The Man They Painted Black
by cocacolagirl97
Summary: You know how "they" say that when faced with a life or death situation people sometimes develop super human strength because of adrenaline or something? Yeah, that didn't happen to Karen. Not that getting a half dead serial killer, albeit justified serial killer, onto your couch really classified as that sort of situation. Frank/Karen slow burn.
1. Chapter 1

Months after the aftermath of "The Punisher", Karen Page was at an interesting place in her life. She wishes she could say that things had quieted down but if anything the situation in Hell's Kitchen had exploded even larger in recent days. The difference was that Karen had finally figured out just where she fit in all this madness.

Nelson and Murdock had gotten back together (I mean who was anyone kidding, her boys were meant for that law firm), but Karen had decided to stay with The Bulletin. She was through being the background character in her own life and had realized that she could do more good for the victims of Hell's Kitchen as a journalist.

As for Matt Murdock, after his big reveal the two had made up and were now closer friends than ever, but they had both accepted that's all they would ever be. Matt was clearly looking for someone pure and innocent who could quietly stand by his side and follow his lead, and Karen Page had finally realized she would never be that person.

She thinks it was Frank Castle who clued her into that.

She remembers the first time she picked up a paper and saw the headline "Massacre" painted across the front page followed by a gruesome story of an Irish gang mowed down where they sat.

She was thrown into this man's life before she could blink. One day suddenly finding herself dragging an injured client down a hospital hallway completely, totally, and utterly horrified for her life. She had glanced behind her and that's when she caught a glimpse of him for the first time. The hospital lights were flashing and alarms were going off and people were scattering and in the midst of it all was this man, this man who seemed completely calm as he took his time chasing her down to end her life, and she was sure she had never seen anything more evil.

But then flash forward and she's standing over this broken man tied down to his hospital bed and she's handing him a picture of his slaughtered family and he's whispering "thank you ma'am" as he stares up at her and into the very depths of her soul.

And then as the weeks of his court case go by they spend hours and hours together and he tells her intimate stories of his children and one day she finds the worst day of her life just spilling out of her and she tells him every bit of her time with Westley. And he doesn't look at her any differently as she recounts the feel of the steel in her fingers and the look in his eyes as the life drained out of him. And when she finishes Castle simply mutters "Bastard had it coming" and they both move on.

And then she's in a courtroom and he's screaming that he's guilty but he's also doing everything to avoid looking at her and she knows, she just knows that the man before her isn't him.

So when she hears that he's escaped prison, she'll never admit it to a soul, but a small breath of relief comes shuttering from between her lips.

And when she sits in the small office with Matt and Foggy and hears the DA claim that Castle has threatened her little girl, Karen wants to laugh because she knows he didn't, he couldn't, he wouldn't.

But then she's pinned beneath Matt's body and bullets are shattering the room around them and she can't believe that he would do this, that he would hurt Foggy, and she's ashamed but she can't help wondering if he knew that she was there in that room too.

So when he shows up at her apartment and declares it wasn't him she wants more than she's ever wanted anything before to believe him, but she refuses to be naïve so she keeps the gun between them. And when he realizes she's in danger he risks launching himself right at that gun and lands on top of her just as the bullets shred the walls above them and in that moment she genuinely thinks she's never felt more safe.

And later when she steps into the hotel's car garage and sees him sitting there in _her_ car, she teases him to cover up the passing thought that he looks like he belongs there.

Then they're in the dinner and she knows it's a mistake but she lets herself pretend that it's real and she imagines him before his life was torn apart, a war hero and a gentleman. But at that moment, like the perfect synopsis of Frank Castle, he goes from guzzling coffee and giving her love advice to effortlessly spitting open skulls. And she's hiding in the back and listening to the massacre and she's horrified, she really is, but there's also this small part of her that wonders if this is what justice is now.

So she follows Castle to that dock and she watches him go up in flame and she lets the cops mistake her heartbreak for trauma.

And then she's throwing herself, her whole self, into this article to explain to the world who Frank Castle really was because if she doesn't, then what else is left.

So she goes to the Colonel's house and she realizes he's The Blacksmith and she's certain that now she's going to end up just another unfortunate victim of Hell's Kitchen. But then the Colonel is forcing her into her car and that stupid song is coming through the speakers and Karen knows that she's going to be okay, because, somehow, Frank Castle is out there and he's going to save her.

And he does.

But then she's having a moment of clarity that she can no longer be an accessory to Frank's assassinations, and she knows what she's asking of him isn't fair, that this is his ultimate enemy, but she tells him that if he kills The Blacksmith then he can cross her out of his life.

And he does.

Yet days later she half expects it to be Castle who comes crashing through that window to save her and the other hostages, but it's not. And it's not him fighting a small army on that roof as she looks on from the alley below either. She wonders if she's happy about that.

But then, just when Daredevil's defeat seems eminent, it _is_ him appearing on a nearby rooftop and effortlessly saving her friend's life. And then it _is_ him staring straight down at her, she swears he is, and then stepping backward into the night.

And then for three months…

Nothing.

I mean Matt has told her that he's shown up now and again, getting The Devil of Hell's Kitchen out of several sticky situations. And she's certainly felt the gaze of some unseen eye on her on more than one occasion. But he's stayed away. Perhaps because it's what she thought she wanted or perhaps because it's what he really does. Regardless, Karen Page had finally been able to make peace with where she belongs, fighting for those in Hell's Kitchen who have no voice.

Yeah, there's no doubt about it. Frank Castle definitely taught her that.


	2. Chapter 2: The Man They Painted Red

Sometimes Karen wondered how her life had gotten to this point.

Especially on pitch black, stormy nights like these when she's alone inside her tiny apartment and pacing the floors because sleep doesn't often find her anymore. She'll look around and just think, when did this happen? She knows all the facts of course, how charming Matt Murdock saved her life and swept her head first into this whole new world, maybe what she's really asking is why her. Cliché, she knows, but she just can't help it.

On this particular night it was yet another article keeping her awake when any well respecting citizen of Hell's Kitchen had retired hours ago. She was currently sitting at the island which separated her small kitchen and living room, and spending more time staring at the wall blankly than doing anything else. She told herself she was analyzing her latest puzzle of an article, but subconsciously it's more likely she was waiting to nod off. More mornings than not these days she wakes up in that same chair with a face full of clippings and an awful cramp in her neck.

She's spiraling. She's fully aware. But perhaps that's exactly what she deserves. All the people in her life, a vigilante, a lawyer, and, well, something else, spend their days going after people who deserve to be punished. People just like her.

Breaking from her thoughts, she got up and went to her fridge.

"Note-to-self Karen," she sighed upon opening it. "Go on a grocery run."

Having decided on a granola bar instead, she went to stand by the window and observe the outside world. The wind was really raging out there and with the rain pelting down so harshly her only chance to see anything was the sparing moments when lightning illuminated the sky. In a way the streets of Hell's Kitchen almost seemed peaceful to her in those passing instants of time. It was as if in those seconds she could imagine everyone else witnessing Hell's Kitchen the way she saw it every day, all dark corners and dangerous shadows.

If not for her constant paranoia, Karen Page may have mistaken the weak rasping at her door for some tree limb racking across her window.

Instead her eyes immediately shifted to the clock above her stove to confirm that it was indeed a few minutes after two in the morning. She rushed for her nightstand and pulled out her prized .308 just as the sound came again, if possible even quieter this time.

"Matt?" she whispered knowing that if it was him he'd be able to hear her, but no reply came.

A minute or two passed in complete silence before she crept toward the door, her heart probably beating loud enough to give her away. But nothing could prepare her for the man she found leaning heavily against her door when she glanced though her peephole.

Looking back, Karen definitely shouldn't have flung open the door quite so fast.

In an instant his dead weight was slamming into her petite body, and they were landing with a painful crash in her hallway.

And that's how Karen Page found herself lying back-down in her doorway in the middle of the night with a mostly unconscious Frank Castle draped across her body.

It took only a second to realize that he wouldn't be moving himself, so with a large grunt and a lot of energy she managed to roll him off of her. That's when she noticed the large amount of blood that was now covering her figure in several places, and her eyes flew to Frank's just as they fluttered open.

He looked so completely and utterly confused. Like he had no idea in the world what he was doing there, and she was frozen for a moment, stunned from never having seen him look so vulnerable before. And then, with no warning whatsoever, he was struggling to stand, attempting to use her wall as an anchor, and looking rather frantic.

Karen reached forward to help him, offering a quiet "Frank," but he quickly batted her arm away.

"No," he gruffly ground out. "Need to get out of here. Now."

And then Frank Castle took one step toward the door and crumpled into himself, slamming face first into the floor, and remaining there.

"Frank!" Karen gasped this time, probably making far too much noise.

There was no time to dwell on how utterly, completely, and unabashedly frustrating the man was so instead Karen hurried to shut her door before any neighbors caught a glimpse of something she couldn't explain, and then moved to stand over the battered and shallowly breathing man.

"Right. So first get him to the couch," she told herself, trying to keep her sanity in check.

Actually doing that, however, was another story. The man was practically one big rock-hard 200-pound mass of muscle who was covered from head to toe in slippery blood. She wasn't particularly looking forward to explaining to her landlord how the long streak of bloodstain from her door to the couch had gotten there, but she'd just worry about that later.

Right now she was in full on compartmentalization mode. She couldn't worry about where he was hurt, or how he was hurt, or why he showed up at her apartment. And she definitely couldn't worry about Frank Castle bleeding out on her floor. She just had to take it one step at a time. And breathe, definitely remember to breathe.

Step one, get him to the couch.

You know how "they" say that when faced with a life or death situation people sometimes develop super human strength because of adrenaline or something? Yeah, that didn't happen to Karen. Not that getting a half dead serial killer, albeit justified serial killer, onto your couch really classified as that sort of situation.

But she dragged with all her strength, probably adding rug burns to any tiny parts of his skin that weren't already damaged, and finally succeeded in getting him somewhat awkwardly onto the couch.

Step two, call Claire.

"Karen?" she answered after the first two rings. "Is everything okay?"

The two women had met twice now in the recent months during some of Matt's, well let's just say not his best days.

"Not really," Karen expressed. "Can you get to my apartment as soon as possible?"

"Do I even want to know what kind of trouble he's gotten himself into this time?" Claire sighed.

"Just get here," Karen demanded. "Please."

There was a moment of silence on the other side and then, "I'm on my way." Click.

The nurse obviously thought it was Matt who was hurt and bleeding on her couch. Karen wondered how she'd take it when she found out her patient is none other than Frank Castle. But she couldn't worry about that now. One step at a time. Compartmentalization.

But then something clicked.

Matt.

And Karen was leaning forward and shaking Frank by the shoulders even though she knew it would do no good, but she couldn't stop herself from frantically searching for answers.

"Frank!" she hissed. "Frank where's Matt?! Was he with you! Is he hurt too!? Frank!"

And then she was ripping her cellphone out of her pocket and dialing his number without really seeing it and praying to hear his voice.

"Hello?"

It was him.

"Karen?"

He sounded fine. A little sleepy maybe, but fine.

"Are you there?"

So he hadn't been with Frank. He was home. He had been sleeping.

"Karen? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yes, um hi Matt," she finally replied. "Uh sorry my phone must have called you when I rolled over onto the screen in my sleep."

It was a pretty pathetic lie and they both knew it.

"You're sure everything's okay?"

For a split second she contemplated telling him and she's honestly not sure why she didn't but she thinks maybe it's because she doesn't want to betray Frank's trust. She's not sure why about that either.

"Yeah everything's good," she insisted. "Sorry about that Matt."

"Don't worry about it," he said, still sounding slightly concerned. "You can call me anytime about anything Karen."

"I know. Thanks Matt," she said. Click.

Step three, assess the damage.

It was hard to tell where any of the actual points of injury were because blood seemed to be pooling around every inch of him. She wondered if he'd need a transfusion. One step at a time right?

So she hurried to her tiny bathroom and grabbed every towel she owned. Returning to his side, she found herself hesitant to touch him. He was like this whole other sort of creature, so dark and mysterious, so set apart from the world. He seemed invincible and she honestly felt like might just sit straight up and grab her hand, but he remained still as she began to scrub the layers of blood from his face. She actually managed to remove quite a bit of it from his body before Claire arrived.

"You okay?" Claire asked, eyeing Karen's stained clothes as soon as she opened the door.

"Not mine," she said dismissively, ushering her in.

"I'll just follow the bloodstain then," Claire sighed.

Karen didn't know if she should explain first but then it was too late because Claire was already standing over her couch. And she looked confused for a moment but then recognition was crossing her face and she was lifting her head and all but glaring in Karen's direction.

"What the hell Karen! Frank freaking Castle?!"

Karen found herself putting her hands up in a cautionary sort of way.

"Claire, please, just listen to me," she calmly demanded. "The things the media have been saying about him just aren't true! I don't know if Matt has said anything to you, but Frank isn't a bad guy. Life delt him a hand of tragedy and violence, and he's been fighting back with the only cards he's got in his deck. His methods are controversial, of course, but his intentions are pure. Claire no matter what you may feel about him, if you trust me then please, please just help him. I'm begging you."

"I can't even believe this. Fine. Just call me the official caretaker for all vigilantes everywhere," Claire huffed. "I'll expect freaken Thor to be showing up on my doorstep one of these times."

"Thank you. Really, thank you," Karen breathed a sigh of relief.

"So what the hell happened to this guy?" Claire asked as she pulled on her hospital gloves. "He looks as bad as Matt after Nobu."

Karen could only shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine."

It took Claire mere minutes to assess the damage.

"Well from what I can tell he's got a bullet wound to the shoulder, likely two different concussions, three or four broken ribs, and quite a few deep lacerations covering the rest of his body," she determined. "He really should be at Metro General but I know that's not gonna happen."

With Karen's help she took off his signature leather jacket and they removed what was left of his shirt before tightly wrapping his abdomen. It seemed that Frank had already removed the bullet himself so Claire just had a few stitches to add to his handiwork. Then she stitched the lacerations she could while Karen patched the rest and within a half hour they were through.

"He's gonna be okay right?" Karen asked, not willing to admit to herself how much she might care.

Claire nodded a bit. "I think so. His breathing is stable and the bleeding has slowed considerably, but these type of things are always touch and go. Just watch him closely and call me immediately if his breathing shallows at all."

"I will," Karen promised. And without thinking she pulled Claire in for a hug. "Thank you."

Step four, wait.

In a matter of minutes Claire was gone and it was pushing four in the morning. The apartment was dead quiet allowing the steady stream of air flowing from between Frank's lips to fill the room, and Karen was finally allowed a moment to study the man. He didn't exactly look peaceful per say, she wasn't sure he was even capable of that, but she supposed he looked quiet in a way. And tired. The man acted like he could take on the world, and there was actually a good chance he could, but now, in the early morning hours, she could see the effects of his lifestyle written all over his face.

And as she settled back into her seat at the island and stared absentmindedly at the figure of Frank Castle, Karen Page found herself once again wondering how her life had gotten to this point.


	3. Chapter 3: The Man They Painted Red Pt2

Karen was on her ninth cup of coffee from trying to stay awake to monitor the battered man on her couch.

Frank would be proud.

She had called into The Bulletin hours earlier and let them know she wouldn't be making it in. The last thing she needed was any more unexpected knocks on the door. It was nearing eleven in the morning and Claire had called three times now to check in. There wasn't much to report. Frank Castle was still neatly passed out on her sofa, not moving a single muscle in the past seven hours. The only sign of life was the steady in and out of his breath over and over like a lullaby.

Sometime around six Karen had changed clothes and cleaned off her skin. She'd been so paranoid that he would give up the ghost the moment she stepped away that she had kept the bathroom door wide open with one ear keeping track of the sound of his breath the whole time.

She had been trying to keep herself occupied working on her article and watching TV, but she was constantly finding her eyes trailing back to Frank. She couldn't help wondering how long exactly she was gonna have to hang around waiting for the man to show signs of life.

She also couldn't help wondering who exactly did this to him.

She was pretty sure Frank Castle was the toughest person she'd ever heard of, not that she would ever admit it to Matt but she'd even put her money on Frank over Daredevil, so even considering what kind of force was able to put him in a position like this scared the crap out of her.

She was beginning to go stir crazy cooped up in her small apartment with all these crazy possibilities running around her head. Calling Matt was still an option but for some reason it just felt like that would be a betrayal to Frank. He hadn't exactly seemed all that happy to be at her apartment and she definitely didn't feel as though she owed him anything, she really didn't, but at the same time there was just something unexplainable about the man that made her feel protective.

Deciding to occupy herself by attempting to get some of the blood out of Frank's jacket and shirt, she picked them up from where they rested on the couch only to jump multiple feet into air at the sound of something clattering to the ground.

As she stared down at the cd disk with MICRO written on it in black blocky lettering, call it a journalist's intuition, but she had the slightest feeling that her life was once again doing a complete 180.

It was likely equal parts intense boredom and reporter's curiosity that had her popping the disk into her laptop before she had a chance to second guess herself. Literally hundreds of names were suddenly appearing on her screen and Karen felt bile rise in her throat at her immediate assumption that this was some kind of hit list of Frank's. It only took her a moment, however, to realize that this could not be the case since each and every name was a woman's.

There was a file attached to the names and it only took her opening the first three to find the bile returning. This was a witness protection list and every single one of these women had two common denominators: each one of the 237 names had been sold into human trafficking in Kandahar, and then each one had been rescued from it by a black ops unit led by none other than Lieutenant Frank Castle.

Every detail of their new lives was on that disk down to their zip codes, and it didn't take a genius to put the pieces together. Someone wanted these women back. Bad.

Karen Page found herself glancing over at the damaged man lying on her couch with a new pit of emotions bubbling over in her chest, and as if he could sense it, he let out a low moan and then went still again.

She knew he wouldn't answer but she found herself calling out to him anyway.

"Frank?"

And then as if in some sort of sad cliché where nothing good ever seemed to follow the man's name, a world of glass exploded around her.

The man came hurtling through her window so fast that she had only an instant to take in his military clothing before she found herself tackled to the floor under a man's weight for the second time in 24 hours. This time, however, a sickening smack resounded from her skull at the impact.

The menacing face wasted no time in leaping to his feet and dragging her with him, slamming her into her living room wall. She let out an actual laugh when she randomly realized that she hadn't even had a chance to scream.

"Something you find funny about this darlin'?" the menacing face growled.

"Take your pick," Karen's voice was coming out slightly muffled with half her mouth forcefully melding into the brick. "The fact that these types of situations are becoming a common occurrence for me, the irony that The freakin Punisher is literally in this room and there's a large likelihood that I'm going to die anyway, or I guess just my life in general."

"I'm glad you grasp the gravity of this situation," the face sounded quite calm. "Means I don't have to waste time with the threats. The Lieutenant over there is obviously gonna have to die today, but scout's honor lil' lady, you might just make it through this if you play your cards right."

"Well I'm all for making it through this," she ground out. "What can I do for you?"

Her body was pulled backward and slammed face first back into the brick wall before she knew what was happening. The crunch and stream of blood that followed confirmed her nose was down for the count.

"I'm not interested in playing games," menacing face reminded. "You know exactly what I'm here for."

"You realize if you keep damaging my head I'll be of no use to you," Karen spat out waiting for her vision to clear.

She probably would have payed for that one, which she actually would have preferred over the reality that menacing face had finally glanced over at her open laptop. With an appeased nod he dropped her to the floor and had the laptop in his grasp within seconds.

As he turned back toward her with a gun now in hand, Karen froze but menacing face simply cracked a slimy smile.

"Now now Ms. Page, I'm a man of my word," he assured in a voice that somehow was the farthest thing from assuring. "You're not going to die today. Somebody's got to take the fall for the dead man on your couch."

And there it was.

"Ah Ms. Page don't look so shocked," he continued. "You're a journalist after all. This is the way it works out best for everyone. You get to keep your life but your credibility will be shot to hell and no one will ever believe anything you may try to write while rotting in prison."

Menacing face studied her for a moment and Karen took the chance to prepare to fight with everything she had in her, but then without any warning whatsoever a shot rang out and excruciating pain was piercing her shoulder.

"Nothing personal Ms. Page," he explained as she gasped through the splotches appearing in her vision. "It's not fatal, I just wouldn't want to make the mistake of underestimating you like many have before."

It may have been that her consciousness was fading but it suddenly seemed like everything was happening incredibly fast.

Menacing face had the gun pressed to Frank's temple, but then Frank's eyes were snapping open and one of his hands was shoving the man's arms upwards sending the bullet just over his head, and in the same instant his other fist was coming up and connecting with the man's face.

Karen's eyes drooped closed for a moment as she listened to the struggle and when she got them open she caught a glimpse of menacing face's hands around Frank's throat before they shut again.

The next few minutes consisted of frozen images such as that as she fought to stay conscious.

A snapshot of her vase smashing on menacing face's shoulder, an image of the man tackling Frank to the floor, and finally one that was oddly beautiful in her unstable state.

It was a moment frozen in time. Held perfectly in her head forever.

Frank standing tall in all his beaten and bloody glory, the man's gun in his extended arm, the bullet flying toward its inevitable victim with extreme precision.

The next thing she was aware of was Frank attempting to drag her to her feet.

"Come on ma'am let's get you up," he muttered over her hisses of pain.

"My neighbors definitely heard that," she pointed out while pressing an open palm to her wound. Her hand came away strangely not entirely covered in blood.

Frank glanced at it quickly filling in the blanks. "Bullets still in there plugging the hole so to speak. And your neighbors are the least of our worries, black ops squads don't do one man missions."

"What do you mean black ops?! Aren't they the good guys!" she questioned as Frank left her leaning against a wall to reload the gun.

This time when her door came exploding open Karen did shriek.

Frank simply spun, the gun as if a part of his body, and immediately dropped the first two bodies that came through the door.

The next two passed right by Karen completely ignoring her existence and focusing on the immediate threat. When four more came barreling through the window, Karen knew she couldn't deny the inevitable. Things would not be going their way.

Frank was quite impressively somewhat holding his own against the six similarly trained men, but he was slowly losing momentum.

If Karen's time with Matt Murdock had taught her anything it was that there was always something greater than one's self. So she put aside the pain and the fear and she threw her body into the mix with one thing in mind; the disk.

The success she felt when her fingers managed to close around it was short lived as she felt herself non too gently being dragged to her feet. It was all so swift and methodical that she didn't even know what was happening until the sour smelling rag was already secured around her mouth.

Unfortunately, this time all the coffee in the world wouldn't be enough to keep her awake.


End file.
